His Best Friend's Wedding
by argylekneesocks
Summary: Five years ago, Connie Moreau had everything she had ever wanted.Then she lost her reason to wake up every morning.
1. Five Years Ago

**Author's Note:** Okay, so I had to take a break from the fluff and sweetness that is "Hey There, Delilah." I can't be bright and shinny all of the time. This angsty and dark and twisty! YAY!  
Anyway, I was watching the Season 2 Finale of Grey's Anatomy sometime back and this plot jumped into my head, so I went with it. There are some references tucked in it, so kudos to you if you get them—go ahead and point them out in a review if you catch them. I'll give you a cyber cookie.  
The plot bunnies in my head have decided that this is going to be a behemoth of a story, so jump in for the ride. However, if I get enough reviews that say "hey this sucks," I'll stop with it. ;)  
So, I'm going to do something I swore I'd never do and ask for reviews! If you like it, tell me why, and tell me I should keep writing!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing you recognize and some of the things you don't.

**Playlist:  
**_Your Guardian Angel_- Red Jumpsuit Apparatus  
_First Day of My Life_- Bright Eyes  
_Jesus_- Brand New  
_Hate Me_- Blue October

* * *

"Connie this is wrong, and it isn't like you," he said, placing an arm around her shoulders. He looked so disappointed, so very disappointed. The way his eyes locked on hers threatened to break her heart again, but it hadn't really healed from the first time he broke it, had it?

"I know," she responded, chocking back tears as she lowered her head to avoid his stare. It was _so_ wrong. What made her think this would make things better? Lifting a strong hand, he raised her chin so that she _had _to look him in the eyes.

"You're doing this because you miss me, aren't you?" _Those eyes. _Those chocolate brown eyes she hadn't looked into for so long threatened to rip her apart inside. _Five years!_ It had been _five_ years! And as much as it hurt to admit it, she knew it was true.

"More than you could ever imagine."

* * *

Singing loudly and off key, twenty-one year old Connie Moreau, soon to be Connie Germaine, danced around the kitchen of the small apartment she shared with her fiancé. Taking a momentary break from chopping vegetables, she dug a large cooking pot out of the cabinet and placed it in the sink. Turning on the faucet to fill it up with water, she turned a wonderful pirouette back towards her cutting board.

"I could have danced all night!" she sang along with the record player in the living room, slicing up carrots and onions. "I could have danced all night! And still have begged for more!" Smiling at her silliness, she continued to sing as the telephone rang. "I could have spread my wings, and one a thousand things I've never done before!" Twirling and hopping, she landed in front of the cordless phone on the kitchen table and answered it.

"Future Mrs. Guy Germaine speaking!" she answered the phone cheerfully as the sound of Audrey Hepburn singing continued in the living room. Looking over to the sink, she saw that the pot was overflowing and was about to go turn the water off when the person on the other end of the line spoke.

"Connie, honey," it was Guy's mother, and she cried as she spoke. "Connie, I've got some terrible news."

Connie could feel her heart stop. Her knees buckled. The telephone slipped from her hands and tumbled to the floor with a silence-breaking "thunk." _No_, she mouthed upon hearing the news. Her empty hands went limp as her mind fumbled for thought.

Emitting a silent scream as the sound of broken glass filled her ears, she crumpled to the floor, her legs collapsing underneath her little frame. A glass she must have knocked off of the counter lay next to her in shards. Gasping for air as she braced herself against the cold tile of the kitchen floor, her mouth was stretched into what under other circumstances could have been a smile; her eyes had begun to well with tears, but they refused to fall. Vision blurred by tears, her long dark hair falling about her face as her whole body convulsed, violently rejecting the information she'd just received.

"Hello?" the voice on the other end of the phone begged urgently. "Hello, Connie? Connie, are you okay? Are you there?" It persisted, beckoning her to speak again, but how could she? How could she respond to what the unseen woman had just told her?

What could she say to the news that had just ruined her life?

* * *

"Connie?" someone called from what seemed like miles away. The voice was barely audible, like they were at the far end of a tunnel. There was a roaring in her ears, like the ocean, and her vision was so very blurry. "Connie, where are you? You're scaring me." The voice was louder now, and the roaring in her ears seemed to have lessened, as if the speaker was closer. She raised a hand to wiper her eyes in effort to clear her vision. The back of her hand came back wet, but it didn't help much. "Connie?" the voice was further away now, as if whoever was looking for her had gone the other directions. She wanted to get up, to let whoever know where she was, but she couldn't. She couldn't make herself speak, couldn't do anything. Finally, the vibration of footsteps on the cold linoleum floor reached her. In moments, the feet were right in front of her. "There you are! I came over as soon as Guy's mom called." The voice was still muffled, and she couldn't raise her head to see who it was. If only the roaring in her ears would stop.

The body turned toward the sink and in seconds the roaring was gone. That's right, she was filling up the pot to boil water when… The next thing she knew, the oh-so-familiar face of Charlie Conway was even with hers on the floor, and his hand grasped for hers. His eyes were weary and red.

"Hey," he whispered, squeezing her fingers in his hand. For the first time in hours her eyes were able to focus. She didn't say anything, but instead held his eyes with her own. They were so warm and dark, like Guy's.

The two of them lay there for some time. Neither spoke, neither moved save the clockwork motion of Charlie squeezing Connie's hand, as if to assure himself that she were still alive. Suddenly, without warning, Connie sat up, weakly pushing herself off of the floor. Charlie followed, and the two leaned their backs against the oven door.

"Twelve hours ago we were having sex." It was the first thing she'd said in some time, and her voice sounded as if it had forgotten how to work correctly. "The really good kind that you can only have when you really love the person you're having sex with." Charlie wrapped an arm around her shoulders, listening, uncomfortable at the revelation. "We're supposed to get married in four days," she continued. "He stopped to help an old lady change her tire and got hit by a drunk driver. Isn't that ridiculous?" She stopped for a moment. Her breathing quickened, sounding as if she was about to hyperventilate. "Isn-" her voice cracked, "Isn't that the most ridiculous load of_ shit_ you ever heard?" And with the last word, she began to cry, convulsing violently once more.

Working his jaw, as if holding back his own emotions on her behalf, Charlie stood. Effortlessly, he scooped up the young woman's body, wrapping her arms around his neck. Slowly, he walked towards the bedroom, shushing her sobs as they went. He laid her on the bed then found a spot next to her, hesitating before he lay his head on the pillow. There was a dip there still, presumably from Guy's head. A head that would never touch the pillow again.

* * *

She felt so guilty there in the sanctuary of the church. Everyone was there from Coach Bombay and the original Ducks, to Team USA and Ms. McKay, to Coach Orion and the high school players, to everyone Guy had played with in college. The room was full, with some people standing in the back. She was such a hypocrite. She'd claimed to have loved him from the moment they met when they were seven, but not even twenty-four hours after his death she'd been with another man. He was dead, and she could never make things right. Perhaps it was fitting that she'd have to live with the guilt forever.

She wasn't even a widow. She was four days away from being a widow. She was a cheating whore of a not-widow. She couldn't get it out of her mind. It was so wrong!

But it had seemed _so_ right at the time.

_They'd lain in bed all day. Well, she had. After carrying her to the bedroom, Charlie had stayed with her for some time, holding her shaking little frame close to him and sleeping only after he knew she was no longer awake. He didn't know it, but she'd heard him crying in the middle of the night, woken by the slight shaking of his torso. He'd gotten up early and made her a breakfast she merely picked at, and spent the rest of the day leaving the room only to answer the phone or the door. _

"_She needs some time," he'd told the visitors and the callers. "Just a little more time." The funeral had been planned for two days hence; arrangements were made by Guy's mother. All Connie had to do was sit there and look solemnly pretty as the guests came to pay their condolences. Her mother had immediately sent out a notice canceling the wedding, and they were to drive in to town the following day. _

_Charlie was a good guy. He had stepped in without being asked to take care of her, letting her world stop for just a little while. He understood she needed silence, so he'd said practically nothing all day. The room was dark and silent for most of the day, punctuated with a few weak whimpers from Connie. _

_It was nighttime now, but what time exactly, she did not know. Charlie had taken the clocks out of the room, and she was grateful—the constant tick-tock would have driven her mad. The young woman's head lay on her companion's shoulder, her arms wrapped around his trim waist. He held her close, chin resting on her head with his arms hugging her comfortably tight, as if protecting her from something. He couldn't protect her, though, it was too late. _

"_He's gone." Her voice was weak and scratchy. To speak actually caused her pain. Charlie lifted his head, moving back from her to see her face. His brows were knit with concern. Slowly, he raised a hand and brushed back a wild strand of dark hair from her face. _

"_Yeah," he agreed, his voice equally ragged. Hand settling her jawbone, he soothingly rubbed his thumb across the smooth skin of her cheek. And then, something totally unexpected happened: Connie began to laugh. It was soft at first, so soft he actually thought she was crying. But then no tears came and the laughter grew, and with it Charlie's confusion. Her tiny hand reached up to cover his, squeezing it. _

"_What a way to jilt the bride," she said, finally explaining the reason for he laughter. Shaking her head softly, the laughter quickly turned into tears. "He never half-assed anything, did he?" Moving his hand, Charlie wrapped his arms around her torso and pulled her closer, really to comfort himself more than anything._

"_Nope," he replied, the lump in his throat clearly audible, "he sure didn't." Looking into Connie's hazel eyes, the relief that swept over him was clear as her tears stopped, but he couldn't have predicted what happened next. As if in slow motion, he watched as her face grew nearer to his, as her sad eyes closed, as her lips met his. He shut his own and as if having relinquished all control over his own actions, he slipped into the kiss without a second thought. Moments later, he pushed her away as the magnitude of the kiss set in. "Connie?" He questioned, his eyes full of worry and fear and anger and sadness and, as much as he wished to vanish it, desire. Ashamed, Connie turned away, biting her lip as if realizing what she'd done for the first time. What had she done? Kissing Charlie wouldn't fix anything. It wouldn't bring Guy back. It wouldn't turn back time. It wouldn't make her feel any less pain. It wouldn't make him feel better. Kissing Charlie would only bring about a world of guilt for both of them. _

"_I'm sorry," she quickly apologized, looking up to the young man with her big hazel eyes, her bottom lip still caught between her teeth. She looked so like a little girl in that moment. So like that little girl Charlie had first met when he was six on the playground, the day she'd kicked him in the knee for not letting her play basketball with them. That little girl didn't deserve this. Connie didn't deserve this._

"_It's okay," Charlie replied, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. They lay there for what seemed like hours in the silence, but could really have only been moments. Slowly, despite her better judgment, she moved closer to the young man and placed a seductive kiss on his slightly scruffy neck as she rested a hand against his chest. "Connie," he began to stop her, his voice sounding a little less emphatic than before. _

"_Charlie," she interrupted, placing her lips against his ear, "I feel so hollow right now, and I don't want to feel like that. I want to feel anything but that." She pressed her mouth to his ear, her bottom lip lingering against it. "So either you are going to let this happen, because I know you need to feel something else, too, or I'm going to go into the kitchen and stick my hand over the burner while the stove is on." She sounded so desperate, and as insane as it seemed, in that moment she made complete sense to Charlie. Complete and utter sense. Without further discussion, he turned his head and captured her lips in his own. One hand tangled in her messy brown hair, the other wrapped around her waist, he maneuvered so that he was on top of her, and now in control. Her delicate arms, no longer sculpted as they were when she played hockey, wrapped around his neck as he began to tug her jeans away. She removed his shirt with ease, and in no time they were completely without clothes. _

_When it ended, Connie refused to admit it, but she felt even emptier than before. Turning away from her fellow mourner, she curled into the fetal position, her little body shivering as if cold. "I'm sorry," she'd mumbled over and over again, and Charlie knew it wasn't he whom she was apologizing to. Guilt settling in, Charlie wanted to comfort her, but couldn't find it in him to touch her again. He left early that morning, with a plate of eggs and toast prepared for Connie on the kitchen table. He thought she'd been asleep when he snuck out, but she wasn't. _

Hanging her head in guilt, the girl let out a sob. Certainly the other mourners assumed it was for Guy. All but the man beside her. Guy's parents had asked that she, Charlie, and Adam sit with them at the funeral, and really, it was proper. Guy had no siblings—Adam and Charlie had been his brother. In high school, they were like the Three Musketeers, completely inseparable. And Connie, well, Connie was the love of his life. Mrs. Germaine caught the girl's hand in her own and squeezed it tightly, as Charlie shot her an unreadable look. _How could we?_ Connie thought. _How could we do what we did in _our _bed? In Guy's bed. _They didn't deserve to be there. They betrayed him in death, and that seemed even worse than betraying them in life. Sobbing once more, she was a little surprised as Adam reached across Charlie and took her hand. Looking down the pew, she squeezed it and offered her best attempt at a smile. The redhead next to him caught her attention. Adam and Delilah were to be married soon, in a month or so. Oh, how she hated the woman. Delilah had her Adam, and it was not fair. _So_ not fair.

The man's hand slipped out of her own, and Connie began to feel as if her lungs were shrinking. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think, she couldn't be _here. _"I'm sorry," she cried softly. Jumping up, she covered her face as she ran out of the church in search of fresh air. She was so ashamed, and they didn't even know why.


	2. Bad Idea

**Author's Note:** So Angsty. I got inspired and had to write some more. I basically love this plot—the plot bunnies have been nibbling holes in my brain all day long, so I'm sure it's going to get interesting. NEWSFLASH: re-formatted for your reading pleasure.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing you recognize and some of the things you don't.  
P.S.  
If you see The Doctor, send him my way. ;)

**Playlist:**  
_Across the Universe _- The Beatles  
_Another One Bites the Dust - _Queen  
_Hold You in My Arms _- Ray LaMontagne  
_Wake Up Acoustic -_ Coheed & Cambria

* * *

Even though she'd lived through it four times before, June third never got any easier, but June seventh was even worse. The irony in having Guy's funeral on the day they were supposed to get married, in the church they were going to get married in, was not lost on her. She'd take a June third over a June seventh any day. This June third was particularly terrible because it was the first that Charlie wouldn't be there with her in person.

Breathing deeply, Connie held her breath for what seemed like ages as she gripped the steering wheel of her car so tightly that her knuckles began to turn white. Slowly, she looked from the clock on the dashboard to the cell phone in her cup holder. Twelve o'clock: time to call Charlie. Exhaling heavily, she reached for the phone, moving as if she were stuck in slow motion. _Breathe_, she reminded herself as the cold plastic of the phone made contact with her hand. Connie flipped open the cell phone and searched for Charlie's number, and upon finding it pressed the 'call' button.

Ring. _Answer the phone, Charlie.  
_Ring. _I can't do this without you._  
Ring. _I need you!_ "Hey," he answered, and it felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from Connie's chest.

"Hey," she replied, unable to say what she'd intended. Unable to tell him that she was angry that he wasn't there and she couldn't do it on her own. That she was grateful he'd answered. That it seemed like her entire life hinged on him answering. That she was almost crying because those three rings made her think he might have forgotten. There was an awkward silence and she wanted so much to end it, but she couldn't.

"Are you okay?" he asked, worry clear in his tone.

"I'm fine," she answered curtly. "How about you?" her tone was softened, an unspoken apology. He was mourning too; it was hard for her to remember she wasn't the only one who lost someone dear when Guy died.

"You aren't fine," Charlie replied, ignoring the question. "Neither of us is _fine._ We aren't supposed to be _fine_." He was angry, but Connie couldn't tell if it was directed at her or at the situation. "Do you have everything?" he asked after a pregnant pause, his voice softer than it had been before.

"Yeah." Connie gazed out of the car window, looking for Guy's headstone. She couldn't see it from the car.

"You've got the flowers?" He sounded nervous, perhaps afraid that if he weren't there, things wouldn't go correctly.

"Calla Lilies," she replied, looking at the bouquet of white flowers in the seat next to her. "Just like he always brought me, and just like we've always brought him."

"You know why he liked Calla Lilies?" Connie rolled her eyes; he always explained why Guy likes the flowers, as if she'd never heard it before. "Because they look like your-"

"Charlie, now really isn't the time for that."

"You've got the boom box and the CD?" And extra batteries.

"Yeah, Charlie."

"You ready?" There was a long silence before she answered.

"Charlie, I'm never going to be ready for this." Pausing only a moment more, Connie wedged the phone between her shoulder and her ear, and then gathered up the items in the front seat. With some degree of difficulty, she got out of the car while Charlie's soothing voice coached her through each step. It was easy for him—he wasn't actually _there._ Moving quickly, Connie made her way through the cemetery gate and towards Guy's grave, a path she knew well but rarely took. The faster she got this over with, the better. When she reached it—the headstone—when she saw his name carved into the rock, she let out a loud sob, so like those she'd cried in the church years ago.

"Are you there?" Charlie asked, one-thousand, five-hundred and nineteen miles away.

"Yeah," Connie answered, nodding softly. After standing at the foot of the grave for some time, the dark-haired woman closed her eyes and swallowed hard. This was something she had to do. She had to learn to do it alone. "I'm putting the flowers in the vases on the sides of the headstone now," she told Charlie as she divided the bouquet and set the halves into the sculpted pots on either side of the marker.

"Good," Charlie encouraged. His voice had cracked. He swallowed hard at the lump in his throat, urging it away. Heading back to the foot of the grave, Connie set down the heavy boom box, and then plopped down beside it. Crossing her legs in a child-like fashion, she pressed the play button and turned the volume up to its highest setting; there weren't any other mourners in the cemetery today, so there was no one to disturb. "Good girl," Charlie assured her as the pumping beat of Guy's favorite song reached him through the telephone.

"Steve walks warily down the street with the brim pulled way down low," they both began to sing in unison with Freddie Mercury. Their voices were soft at first, barely audible over the boom box. "Ain't no sound but the sound of his feet, machine guns ready to go." Their voices were getting louder now, Connie sitting in the cemetery in Minnesota, Charlie in his office in California. "Are you ready? Are you ready for this? Are you hanging by the edge of your seat?" They were practically screaming into their telephones now, imagining that Guy was still there with them, singing along. "Out of the doorway, the bullets rip to the sound of the beat!" And in the next four beats, they both lost it. They always lost it at that point. Every time they'd come to the cemetery in the past five years, every time they'd heard the song in the car, they couldn't choke out the next line. It was just too much.

_Another one bites the dust._

Crumpled into a ball, Connie Moreau lay on the grass at the end of Guy's grave, sobbing as she held her phone to her ear. Fifteen hundred miles away, Charlie Conway sat huddled on the floor underneath his desk in his office at Ambrose & Halberstam Law Firm, crying along with her. Connie assumed it would be easier so far away, but Charlie knew that it was even harder to deal with the void Guy left in his life when there was nothing familiar to comfort him.

_And another one gone, another one gone,_

"Connie, I've got to go now, okay?" Charlie's voice was still shaking. The song had ended, and neither had spoken.

"Okay," she answered, righting herself on the green lawn. Reaching over with a small hand, she turned the player off. "I need to go, too."

"I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" With that, he was gone. Connie picked up the boom box, brushing her hair behind her ears with her free hand.

"I love you," she whispered to the headstone. "I'll always love you." Turning, she took a few hesitant steps toward the cemetery gate, but she stopped. "I'm so sorry," she called over her shoulder.

* * *

Charlie didn't call her the next day. He didn't call her the day after that. Charlie actually didn't call her until the seventh, which was good because she needed to talk to someone that day, but it wasn't good for her nerves to be waiting that long. You weren't supposed to be alone on days like this. What was it they'd said in grief counseling? "Surround yourself with the love of others, so your love for him doesn't hurt so much." Connie scoffed at the thought; it didn't matter who she was with, her love for Guy threatened to rip her apart.

She'd become sort of a recluse now, spending her free time at home. Of course, summers were long with school being out of session, but she'd taken up several hobbies including knitting and needlepoint, so her house was decorated with a style of its own, and she always had last-minute gifts. She rarely spent time with the other teachers at the middle school, but she did have friends. She wasn't totally socially inept; she just preferred to keep her personal life completely to herself.

She sat on the couch now, knitting needles in hand, working on a new sweater. The room was dimly lit with naught but a lamp sitting on the end table and the television lighting the room. It was tuned to BBC America, and she'd escaped into the world of Rose and The Tenth Doctor. Currently, Connie wanted nothing more than a trip in the TARDIS back to the first June third that mattered, so that she could stop him from leaving that morning, or maybe get him home early that evening. Maybe she could even get The Doctor to fix the lady's tire with his Sonic Screwdriver. She was almost finished with the back ofher sweater, only a few more rows to go, when the phone rang.

"Hello?" Connie answered without checking the CallerID. No one called her. Well, no one but Charlie, and she'd given up on waiting for his call.

"Hey," a familiar voice answered, sounding slightly abashed. "Are you doing okay?" Connie rolled her eyes at his question and gave a heavy sigh. When were they going to get through this 'okay' stage? She wasn't okay. She wasn't ever going to be okay!

"Charlie, I'm doing as well as can be expected." She sounded angry, and she didn't do anything to alter her tone. He was supposed to call her three days ago! He couldn't make her worry like that. "What about you?"

"I'm fine. I'm good." Connie gave a derisive snort at the reply: ironic, considering his tirade on the phone four days earlier. She fought back the urge to remind him that they weren't supposed to be fine. There was a moment of utter silence, and then Connie cleared her throat.

"You didn't call." Her tone wasn't accusatory. It wasn't sad. It was just there—a statement.

"I'm sorry, Connie. I really am." He fumbled for words for a moment, searching for what to say. In her mind, Connie could see him sitting at his desk or in his car or wherever, twirling a bit of hair on his forehead as he thought. "There's just a lot of stuff going on around here. I'm really busy at the law firm." And she was sure he had. He'd just graduated from Stanford Law and found a job at one of the state's most prodigious firms. He was doing great for himself, but it was a lot of work.

"I understand. It's okay. I was just…" Connie trailed off, thinking about the horrible conclusions her mind had come to as to why Charlie hadn't called. "I was just worried about you." Worried that another important person in her life had disappeared. That was why she didn't have close friends. She couldn't handle losing someone else.

"I know, Connie." There was another long, uncomfortable silence. "Hey, I have something to tell you." He sounded unsure and excited at the same time. "I wanted to be the one to tell you first, instead of you hearing it from somewhere else."

"Sounds important." Connie replied, almost certain she didn't want to hear his news.

"Oh, believe me. It is." He sounded nervous now, as if he didn't want to tell the news any more.

"Okay?" Connie waited for an answer, still knitting away.

"Do you remember the girl I brought with me last year?" How could she forget? She'd been so mad that he brought some home with him for their annual trip. So angry. She'd embarrassed herself , treating the girl so coldly as she had. What's-her-name was a nice girl, and didn't deserve that. She didn't ask for that.

"The kindergarten teacher?" Connie asked, trying her best to play dumb.

"Yeah, Millie." His voice sounded funny at first, and then he spoke so fast Connie could barely process what the man was saying: "Well--well, I proposed to her. We're getting married." Connie, who'd been able to keep up with the mindless, repetitive task of knitting up until now, let the needles drop to her lap; her ball of yarn rolled off of the couch and across the living room floor. There was long pause where no one said anything, and Charlie began to doubt if there was anyone still on the line. "Well… aren't you going to congratulate me?"

"Charlie," Connie croaked, a frog in her throat. She swallowed hard before continuing. "Charlie, do you really think it's appropriate to tell me something like that on the fifth anniversary of my dead fiancé's funeral which also happened to be our intended wedding day?" Her voice grew with volume and intensity as she spoke; she could hear her heart beating in her ears.

"Connie, I…I just wanted to tell you personally, so you didn't hear it from someone else. The wedding is next month and I want you to come. I'm flying my family and Adam and Delilah out. We're getting married here to be close to her family." He was speaking so fast that it was hard to keep up, as if he was afraid that Connie were going to cut him off at any moment. "I want you to be a part of the wedding, too." He slowed down for that last bit, perhaps so she could hear him clearly. "I know it's unconventional, but I want you to be my groom's maid, I guess." Wait, did she hear him right? Did this guy just tell her about his wedding on the anniversary of her not-wedding, and then ask her to be in his? "With you and Banks I'll have a Best Man and a Best Woman."

"Charlie, I can't!" She yelled into the receiver. What was he thinking? Was he trying to drive her mad?

"Yes you can!" he screamed back. "You have to!" He sounded so desperate, so like the little boy he once was.

"Charlie-" she began, but he cut her off.

"Connie, you have to be there for me because Guy can't! You _have_ to! Guy and Adam were supposed to be there!" His voice was beginning to crack, and Connie could tell that he was crying. "They were supposed to fight over who got to be Best Man. They were supposed to play pranks on me and get me drunk at the bachelor party before the fun stuff even started!" No one said anything for sometime; they were both too busy crying to be able to speak. On the receiver, Connie could hear Charlie clear his throat fifteen hundred miles away. "You have to be there Connie. You have to be there and do what Guy can't do." He was pleading with her now. "I've known you longer anyways, and I'd want you there even if Guy hadn't been part of the picture."

"Yeah, by a whole year." They both gave soft laughs, remembering how young they were when they met. Guy had moved to their school in the middle of first grade, and he'd instantly become part of their twosome. He was always so likeable.

"Connie?" Charlie began, still waiting for an answer.

"Okay." It was what Guy would have wanted, anyway.

"What?" Charlie sounded so surprised, as if he'd heard wrong, as if he'd thought that despite his pleading he had thought she'd still refuse.

"I'll do it. I'll come." She was so solemn now, even at times when a normal person would be overjoyed. But Connie wasn't much of a normal person anymore. She wasn't much of a person anymore.

"Connie! Thank you so much! The wedding on July twenty-first, but I want you out here before that. I'm going to send you a ticket for the tenth. I'll send two, so you can bring a date if you want."

"Charlie-" He knew she didn't intend to get romantic with anyone again, so maybe that's why he cut her off.

"I know, Connie, but just in case. A date can just be a friend." It was almost sickening, the way she could hear the happiness in his voice.

"Alright. I've got to go, Charlie." She couldn't take this anymore, not today.

"I love you, Connie." His voice was shaky as he spoke, fearful of what the words might do to her. There was a time where she didn't let anyone say that to her. He could hear the girl clear her throat over the phone line.

"I love you, too."

"I'll call you again soon."

"Okay." He probably wouldn't, but she was okay with that. That's how Charlie was—he forgot things sometimes.

"Hey, Charlie?" "Yeah?" There was a hint of concern in his voice, as if the magnitude of what he'd just told her set in.

"Congratulations." She almost fooled herself, the way she was able to sound excited for him.

"Thanks."

* * *

The young woman stood at her open closet door, naked. She was dripping wet; water from her hair ran down her back, and her damp bath towel lay at her feet. Slowly, her fingers danced over the hangers, feeling the texture of each sweater and blouse until she came across what she was looking for: a garment bag that hung at the back, hidden. _It _was in there. She told everyone that she'd gotten rid of _it_, that she'd taken _it_ back not long after...well.

She couldn't look at _it_, so she kept her view blocked by and arm's length of clothes as she unzipped the bag. Tucking her hand inside, she felt the cool satin, the texture of the beading at the waist. She felt the lace at the neckline and the pearl buttons that lined the back. He'd thought they were _so_ sexy. Maybe that's why things went the way they did: it was bad luck for the groom to see the dress before the wedding.

Eyes brimming with tears, Connie quickly zipped up the bag. Bad Idea. Sighing deeply, she leaned against the closet door for support, her naked body crumpling to the ground.

_Such a bad idea_


End file.
